Punk
by alternatived
Summary: "Ever" doesn't mind her personality. Negative, sarcastic, just an all around punk. But now, she's out of her element. Surrounded by smiling faces in a prison, and a too curious boy, Ever realizes something she never realized before. She is SO not a people person. very fluffy! ooc Carl maybe.
1. What's My Name?

_ Ever _

Three years. Three whole years. That's how long it took me to remember my first name. I know, it may seem ridiculous, but I haven't had anyone say my name at all in those three years. I only remembered my middle name, Ever. I think that if I ever figure out my first name, it's going to be For or something sick like that. I had some cruel parents.

_"Wake me up when September ends..."_ Green Day blasted through my speakers. Since the zombie apocalypse started, I've been a little depressed. As I've said, I've been alone that entire time. Music became my savior of sorts. It was another voice in my still world.

Those were the deep thoughts you have when you have too much free time. I sat up from my bed and walked over to vanity. My vanity was like any other 14 year olds. Makeup, pictures of friends, random homework that has been long since due, a laptop that was warm with constant use, and my speaker. It had a cracked mirror (don't ask) and was stained black. I glanced at my reflection quickly. Same goldish-copperish eyes, black hair with faded blue and blonde streaks, and lightly tanned skin. I haven't changed at all.

I lived in a very isolated part of Macon, Georgia. No zombies, no people, no animals. So I had the windows wide open when _She's A Rebel_ started up. I sang along as the room vibrated. This song was on _full blast_. If there were any walkers here, my house would be flooded. But there weren't, so I was as loud as I wanted.

I had absolute freedom here. No worries (well, that's not entirely true).

Until there was a knock on the door.


	2. Loss Of Blood

_—Ever—_

I woke up from the nightmare with a start. The night was cold, freezing the already cold sweat that drenched my clothes. It was just a dream, I told myself. I stared up into the night sky, watching the little white dots in the sky twinkle as a gasped in frigid breaths. My chest hurt like crazy, but I ignored it.

Stupid mind. I buried my face into my hands for a second. The sound of groaning could be heard a couple hundred yards away. I stood up shakily, not sure if I was ready to move again. I stumbled down the railroad tracks. I was unfamiliar with where I was, but I was positive I was still in Georgia.

It couldn't see 20 feet in front of me, so I had to squint slightly.

That was my first mistake.

The groans, I realized, were much louder then I had thought. One rotting hand lunged out of the darkness and grabbed my arm. I yanked me arm out of the way, but the teeth scraped me, luckily not breaking the skin. Another one grabbed me from behind, sinking its teeth into my side. I already had the knife in its skull. I quickly sliced the chunk of flesh off my side, hoping the infection hadn't spread already.

Mistake number two was when I let my guard down. The pain the shot through my side made me lightheaded. I fell to the floor with a thud and a crunch, and suddenly my hip hurt too. The zombie that had attempted to bite my arm jumped on top of me. I used my remaining strength to keep it an arms length away from my face. Suddenly, a gunshot whizzed through the air, landing in the corpse head.

Then everything went dark.


	3. Remember Dixon

**—Ever—**

I woke up in a cell. Literally. I was in the bottom bunk of a jail cell, with a bandaged wrapped tight around my left side, and expanding to my right hip. I felt sore, confused, and really uncomfortable.

I observed the room I was in. Next to my head was a nightstand, the top covered in various painkillers and Neosporin. The walls and floor were bare stone, or was it cement? It was hard to tell the difference with my blurred vision. I did see that the door was closed and locked.

I attempted to stand up, but knees gave way and I collapsed back onto the bed.

"Ugh..."

Suddenly, I heard chuckling from the outside of the cell.

"I wouldn't move if I were you, Ever. Wouldn't want yer' other hip broken."

I recognized the voice, but from where? And how did he know my name? Thinking hurt right now, so I ignored the weird feeling in my head and turned towards the voice.

"Very funny." I croaked, my voice still weak from its absence of use. I squinted to look at him, and made out a black leather vest and a crossbow.

"Dixon?" I guessed. Daryl Dixon had been a regular at the bar my brother, Kyle, worked at. He and my brother had been good friends, ad occasionally, when I came in to help clean up the place, he'd hang around and help. But didn't Kyle say he knew dad...?

"Yea, it's me." He said in his gruff voice. "You seein' all righ'?"

I shook my head, at where he might have been standing.

"Lost yer' glasses?"

I think I had glasses when I was younger...or was that my younger brother? The throbbing in my head constricted my thoughts.

"Lay down, Ev."

I did what he told me, and leaned my head back against the thin pillow. "Why am I locked in here?"

I heard Daryl cough from behind the cell door. "Because we noticed you got bit by them walkers."

"Walkers?"

"The living corpse. It's what we call 'em."

"Why not just call them zombies?"

"Stop with all the questions and sleep, you'll need it." He laughed.

I nodded sleepily and closed my eyes for the second time that day.


	4. James Bond Saved Me

I'm back bitchessssssss

* * *

"Goddamn, Dixon, we can't afford to feed another mouth! We've already been doing two runs a week, and even then we don't have enough supplies!"

I've been listening to this argument for roughly 20 minutes. All I know is that Daryl wants someone to stay and some other dude wants her dead. I'm half asleep the entire time, and I would be napping if it weren't for the quarrel. A nice one legged man that introduced himself as Hershel Greene gave me some painkillers for the throbbing in my head.

Luckily, the pain in my head numbed out the sickness in my side.

"She's not wasting anything, Rick! She's taken two painkillers, and tha's it!"

I heard a frustrated sigh and stomping. Then, my cell door opened. Removing my head from my pillow, I saw a boy, probably my age, step into the room. He was wearing a cowboy hat and had a gun strapped at his side. He was frowning slightly.

"Ya know, you must be really special to Daryl, or else your skinny ass would be dead." He crossed his arms and smiled slightly. "What don't recognize your night in shining armor?"

"Huh?" Was all I could managed as I stared at him in confusion. "I wouldn't be able to recognize myself..." I groaned, trying to sit up. My voice still sounded like it had been blended. "What happened?"

"You were bit. I saved you."

"Bit?" I asked no one in particular. The boy plopped down next to me on the bed, and sighed. His hand reached out and gently pulled up my shirt, to remind myself that I cut half my belly off.

"Oh," Was all I could manage, not actually feeling awkward with the boy. "By the way, who the fuck are you?"

He looked up, surprised. "Well. It's Grimes. Carl Grimes." He said blowing off the smoke from his finger gun.

"Oookay, double o seven, calm down." I paused, noticing fresh blood seep through my bandages. "I-I don't remember my name."

He gasped, mocking shock. Then froze. "How do you forget your name?"


End file.
